


i won't say no, how could i?

by deadghoul



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Environmental Studies major Sakusa, Friends to Lovers, How Do I Tag, Inarizaki, M/M, Painter Miya Atsumu, Painting, Slice of Life, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadghoul/pseuds/deadghoul
Summary: But wherever he looks, he finds Sakusa in everything; the potted succulents on the edge of his windowsill, the rubber bands strewn about his flat that make him think of his wrists, ever so flexible— the last aisle of the convenience store where each inhale of cleaning supplies and laundry detergent makes his heart ache with something Atsumu hasn’t quite pinned down yet. Something akin to affection, fondness, that settles deep within him and oozes out through his fingertips, through his paintbrush and drips onto canvas after canvas, leaving no blank spots behind.Or; Atsumu is a painter, Sakusa becomes his inspiration.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou (Mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	i won't say no, how could i?

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a while since ive been on ao3 so ive returned with the worst sakuatsu brainrot that ive immortalized into this fic. enjoy. i was intending on making it a oneshot but a week later i have a bunch of chapters and random scenes so i'm trying to figure out how many parts i should divide this into lol.
> 
> fyi i only have a very vague idea of how college campus life and rallies/fairs work so apologies if its not similar to others' experiences. some part of my brain was also dying over environmental studies major sakusa + suna being really passionate over the environment so. here u go
> 
> comments bookmarks and kudos appreciated!

Atsumu’s head hurts. He’s been focusing so intently on this one brush stroke that he doesn’t notice he just dipped his paintbrush into his coffee cup. He sighs and sits back, examining his work. _The proportions are off,_ he thinks, then in a surge of energy he grabs the canvas and hauls it across the room, not bothering to let the paint dry. He knows he’s gonna go through hell cleaning it all up later, but he’s had a rough night, okay? Or rather, morning, as Atsumu blearily rubs his eyes and squints out the window. Light filters in through the half drawn curtains, dancing in small patterns on the wood floor. The sky is stained just the tiniest hint of pink, enough to tell Atsumu he’s been awake for at _least_ 18 hours. 

He grabs the handle of his coffee mug and sighs into the cup, about to take a sip when he notices the droplet of black swirling in the middle. “Shit,” he says to no one, and then stands to grab his long forgotten phone, charging on the radiator. 

_5:36 a.m_., the clock reads. Osamu’s probably long been awake, that crazy bastard. If Atsumu leaves now he’ll probably make it just in time for the coffee shop his brother works at to open. Osamu insists on taking the morning shift, something about learning to be “productive” or whatever, Atsumu could care less. All he knows is that right now, he needs a new cup of coffee, preferably with 5 shots of espresso. 

He stretches his arms across his chest, and then arches back with his hands on his hips, hearing the satisfying crack of his joints. Slipping his phone into the pocket of his track pants, he stumbles out of the corridor and into the genkan, pulling on the first pair of shoes and jacket he can find.

The minute his face hits the morning air outside, he immediately regrets it. The wind blows just enough to turn the tips of his nose and ears red, something Atsumu would probably enjoy if he had like, three more layers on. He wasn’t raised a quitter though, so he shoves his hands in his pockets and trudges forward. That, and the fact that he _really_ doesn’t want to walk back up four flights of stairs to his apartment. Damn that broken elevator.

At the end of the third block, he turns the corner and enters the quaint shop at the end of the street. All things considered, the place is pretty nice, even though it is understaffed. The mahogany wood is spread all across the floor, round tables spaced evenly apart, and the fairy lights strung around the perimeter bathe the interior in a soft golden glow.

With his back to him and adjusting his apron, Miya Osamu stands behind the counter. Tufts of platinum hair peek out from his black cap, and his shoulders are hunched ever so slightly, something almost everyone would miss unless you’ve lived with the guy your whole life. To Atsumu, this is a telltale sign of Osamu’s exhaustion. That bastard. He said he was handling this job well. 

In four long strides, Atsumu reaches the counter, still trying his best to blink all the fuzziness out of his eyes. The barista finishes tying his apron and turns around. 

Osamu does not look the least bit surprised to see his twin standing before him, eye bags as dark as the espresso he just brewed. “Ya look like shit,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

“Hello to you too, my oh so dearest brother.” Atsumu tries to put on an exaggerated smile, only succeeding in a lopsided smirk before his cheeks give way to exhaustion once again.

“I’ll have one of whatever the fuck will keep me awake for the next 24 hours,” he sighs.

Osamu squints at him. “How many hours _have_ you been awake already?”

Atsumu hesitates. “Could ya repeat that question again?” 

That seems to give Osamu all the information he needs to know, because he disappears behind the display of machines and reappears no more than 3 minutes later, holding a steaming cardboard cup.

Atsumu rushes to grab it, immediately flinching when his palm makes contact with the scalding exterior. “ _Son of a bitch!_ ” he curses, shaking his wrist wildly.

Osamu snickers, attempting to cover his mouth with his hand only a second too late, because Atsumu leans over the counter and promptly flicks him in the head. 

“ _Ow!_ Just drink it you dipshit!” Osamu swiftly grabs a cardboard sleeve and slides it over the cup, pushing it towards his brother. “I knew you were dumb, but ya never fail to surprise me.” 

Atsumu glares at him but picks up the cup and says nothing. While he loves bickering with his brother, it seems there’s still a rough schedule to follow and anytime before 9 am has been deemed _Too Early to Waste Energy Pissing off Miya Osamu_ hours. After blowing on it for what Osamu swears is 5 minutes, he takes a tentative sip. He wrinkles his nose, before looking at his twin in horror. “What the fuck is this?” 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “It’s _tea_. Ever heard of it?” He takes off his cap and runs his hand through stiff, platinum locks. “It’ll help ya sleep. Don’t need ya collapsin’ on me next time I see you.”

“I’m _fine_ , ‘Samu. I told ya I gotta get this project done, I can’t afford to slack off this semester.”

“Yeah, and a sufficient amount of sleep for once won’t kill ya. Since when d’ya care so much about grades anyway? I thought we all knew I’m the smarter twin,” Osamu smirks.

“First of all, I still don’t, but considerin’ it’s for my major, I don’t want my career to go down th’ drain. Secondly, that time you stuck yer hand down the drain in middle school begs to differ—”

“—That’s _enough_ , thank you—”

“Anyways, I’ve cycled through like six different drafts and I still can’t get the hang of this shit,” Atsumu whines, cradling his head in his hands and slumping onto the counter.

“That’s gross, do you know how much coffee has spilled on there? Man, Sakusa would hate it here.”

“ _Who?_ And more importantly, do y’all not clean your counters? Isn’t that like, against the law or somethin’?”

“Against the—? Forget it, what’s this project ya keep whinin’ about?”

Atsumu sighs. “We have to paint a portrait of someone, like, _important_ to you or whatever. Normally I’d just do it of myself but the rules say it’s gotta be of someone else. _Ooh_ , maybe I _can_ paint one of myself and just say it’s you! Aren’t I a genius, ‘Samu?”

“Do that and I’m calling the cops, asshole.”

“Harsh.”

“What’s the big deal, anyways? Ya got tons of people important to ya.” Osamu makes his way past the machines once again and settles behind the main counter, resting a hand on the cash register. 

Atsumu grabs his (now warm) tea and follows him. “Yeah, but none of it _feels_ right, ya know?” He says, waving a hand around flaccidly in the air. 

“No, please enlighten me,” Osamu deadpans. “I’m not an artist like you, ya know. Yer pretty weird though, so if ya say it’s true then I’ll believe ya.”

Atsumu scowls. “Plus, I don’t know where I’d find anyone willing to model fer me. Mosta the team’s still in Hyōgo, so it’s not like I can ask Aran or anythin’.”

“When’s it due?” Osamu asks, stretching his arms above his head until an audible _pop_ is heard.

“Two weeks from now. And before ya say anythin’, it’s been assigned fer a month already.”

Osamu scoffs. “And you say yer not slacking.”

“Shut up. Are you gonna help me find any motivation or not?”

“I don’t really know how I can help with that, but I’ll try. Maybe introduce ya to some people around campus. I’m more popular than you anyways.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “Yeah, don’t know how _that_ ended up happening.”

“Because ya stay in yer room like a recluse all day, I’m surprised yer still alive after inhaling paint fumes 24/7.”

Atsumu moves to whack his brother across the face, right as a quiet jingle chimes throughout the shop. Atsumu quickly straightens, putting on his best _I definitely was not harming any employees_ face, but pauses when he notices Osamu’s expression, eyes softened and the tiniest smile playing on his lips. 

Atsumu gags and without turning around, says “G’mornin’ Suna.”

“Morning,” comes a quiet voice from beside him. “What are you two arguin’ about this early?”

“‘Tsumu’s freakin’ out over a stupid art project again,” Osamu replies.

“It’s not _stupid—_ I swear, ‘Samu, you better help me!” Atsumu whines, finishing the last sip of his tea and then tossing it across the room, aiming for the large recycling bin resting against the wall. He misses by an inch.

“You better pick that up,” Osamu glares.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Atsumu moves to pick up the cup and throws it out ( _properly_ this time). “Yer definitely jealous, you just wish you had my awesome art skills.”

“‘Tsumu?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu raises his eyebrows, “Yeah?”

“Get outta my shop.”

Atsumu looks between Suna and Osamu, then scoffs and heads for the door.

“And ‘Tsumu?”

He debates ignoring his brother and leaving, but he pauses and squints back at him anyway.

“ _Go the fuck to sleep_.”

Atsumu flips him off and backs out of the shop.

“Bye!” calls Suna just as the door shuts. 

Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to walk, eyes trained on the ground. Man, fuck that guy, he bets that if Osamu was assigned that project, he would choose Suna, no doubt. Atsumu wonders how that would be like, to have someone always there, someone that he can choose with no hesitation. Someone that he can paint over and over again, as freely as he wants. 

Atsumu buries himself deeper into his jacket and scoffs. “Since when the fuck am I jealous of _‘Samu_?” How ironic. He kicks a stray pebble on the concrete and continues walking home.

**━━━━━━━━━**  
  


Later that evening, after an accidental six hour nap and two spilled mugs of paint water, Atsumu’s phone rings. He picks it up without bothering to look at the caller ID. Somehow he knew who it was anyway.

“Okay asshole, tomorrow—”

“Osamu, I swear if you say some dumb—”’ Their words clash and they both pause. Call it twin telepathy, or whatever.

“Me first.”

“That’s not how it works, you’re s’posed to say _‘you first, big bro’_ —”

“ _Twenty minutes ‘Tsumu!_ By _twenty_ minutes!”

Atsumu chortles, feeling smug. “Fine, what were ya gonna say?”

Osamu inhales, “You’re comin’ with me to one a’ those club events on campus tomorrow.”

“No the fuck I’m not. Why would I do that?”

“Didn’t ya want me to help you not fail yer project?”

Atsumu furrows his eyebrows and says, “I don’t see how attendin’ one of those dumb school spirit things is gonna help me.” Then he frowns, “and lookin’ at other paintings on display is just gonna make me self conscious.”

He can practically hear Osamu rolling his eyes on the other end. “I’m not _that_ stupid ‘Tsumu. It’s an environmental rally or whatever the fuck, savin’ the earth and all that good stuff. Maybe it’ll inspire ya to finally be a good person for once.”

Atsumu huffs, “Shut yer trap. I’m hangin’ up now.”

“ _No-_ wait, just hear me out.”

“Ya got ten seconds.”

“I know a buncha people participating and settin’ up booths n’ stuff. I think ya could meet a few people, see if anyone stands out to ya,” Osamu offers.

“What, is this like a gameshow now? Am I on the fuckin’ _Bachelor_?”

“Shut up, idiot, I’m just tryna help. Also, I promised Suna you’d come, so there’s no escape.”

Atsumu takes a sharp inhale. Broken promises involving one Suna Rintarou never end well. They both, unfortunately, know this the hard way. “Yer buyin’ me dinner afterwards.”

Osamu stays silent for a few seconds, seemingly contemplating the repercussions of buying his brother food with the pitiful amount of money he earns as a minimum wage barista. “Fine,” he relents, weak at the thought of a scolding from his boyfriend if Atsumu doesn’t show up. “ _Definitely_ shoulda absorbed ya in the womb,” he adds, for good measure.

“ _Hey!_ ”

**━━━━━━━━━**

And thus is how Miya Atsumu finds himself planted on a bench in the center of his college campus, awaiting his shithead brother to drag him through some booths run by plant freaks that would personally drag him to hell if they had any idea of the amount of bottles he’s forgotten to recycle in the past month alone.

He pulls out his phone and begins mindlessly scrolling through apps, when he hears a “ _heads up!_ ” He barely has time to react before an empty plastic water bottle hits him square in the forehead. Ready to curse out whoever had hit him, he looks up to see Osamu, doubling over in laughter, while Suna fixes him with a disapproving stare.

“‘Samu, I swear to _god_ — get over here—” he stands and grabs the bottle, which ended up rolling around somewhere beneath the bench and stalks towards his twin. 

Just before he can return the favor, Osamu stops laughing and says “First assignment: recycle that bottle.” When Atsumu does nothing but glare at him, he adds, “D’ya know how bad it’d look if ya start throwin’ plastic bottles at me in the middle of all these people? Assaulting a friend _and_ using plastic to corrupt the environment?” Osamu makes a face, “Disgraceful.”

“You did it first, _dipshit_ ,” he snarls, but trudges over to a large recycling bin next to the bench and chucks it in.

Osamu follows up behind him and announces, “Good, now let’s get started.”  
  


The event itself is pretty popular, with upbeat university students bustling around making seemingly meaningful conversation. Two rows of booths parallel to each other line a beige pathway, large panels beside them indicating a number. Members of the event are all around, handing out posters, beckoning people to sign up for their club, and making dramatic speeches, some even equipped with megaphones. 

As the three make their way down the aisle, few people catch their attention. A girl with chestnut hair tied back into a bouncy ponytail, pale skinned and freckled, waves a flyer in his face. “Hi!” she chirps, “would you like to learn more about our botany club?” 

Atsumu looks her over, noticing her shirt decorated with intricate green and gold flowers. She wears light denim jeans, swaying loose around her ankles and tight at her hips. A pair of rose covered socks peek out from above her white converse. 

Before he can reply, her eyes seem to flash with recognition and she smiles. “Suna! How are you?”

Suna gives her a lazy smile, “Hey Haruko. M’good. Just looking around.”

She gives him a knowing look. “Alright, have fun! Let me know if you two are interested,” she smiles sweetly at Osamu, before casting a glance at his and Suna’s interlocked hands. Her expression falls for a split second before she shifts her gaze to Atsumu, smiling even brighter, and Atsumu resists the urge to sneer. 

“We will,” Osamu reassures, and then Suna tugs him to the next booth, Atsumu following close behind.

Atsumu stays quiet for the most part, watching Suna interact with lots of people. He casts glances at Osamu every so often, as if silently saying _I’ve never seen Suna Rintarou willingly talk to this many people in my life._ Osamu just shrugs. _Guess this is just something he’s passionate about_ , his eyes say. While he may not understand the whole environmental concept, he can understand the feeling of devotion to a particular subject. Atsumu lives and breathes art, and wishes to spread it every chance he gets. After leaving volleyball behind, art had saved him and he only hopes that he can save others with his art in return. 

The smell of food predictably lures Osamu in, leaving Atsumu to fend on his own. 

“I’ll meet ya back at that bench at three, ‘kay? Don’t be a dick and actually talk to people,” he tells Atsumu.

“Gee thanks,” is the enthusiastic reply. “S’not like I’ll ever see these people again. How am I even s’posed to know if they’re yer friend or not?”

“If they recognize ya, then they know me. Ain’t that hard.” 

“Shut yer trap, I can’t believe we were born with the same face,” he mutters.

Osamu wrinkles his nose at him. “If ya need anythin’ then call me. Sakusa’s at the fifth booth. Daichi at the sixth. M’not sure about everyone else but you’ll figure it out. Later,” he calls, and then Atsumu is left on his own. _Damn you, ‘Samu._

 _Whatever_ , he thinks, _maybe I’ll learn somethin’ useful_. A few more people approach him, asking him if he’s interested in viewing their club, or just introducing themselves and wondering what his major is. He entertains them with friendly conversation, politely declining most of their requests, and scoring some few numbers along the way. _Man, ‘Samu should see me right now,_ he thinks smugly.

He slides his phone into his back pocket and grabs a water bottle from his bag. Unscrewing the cap, he takes a step towards a new booth. It’s fairly simple, a dark blue canopy arranged over two plastic folding tables nudged together. It’s not the energetic atmosphere that pulls him in though, there are no megaphones or flirty freckled girls to be found. No, instead sits a disinterested looking boy in one of the folding chairs behind the table. 

The first thing that he’s immediately drawn to is his jacket. Rather, his windbreaker. Atsumu wonders in mild horror if this man is a walking furnace, based on the three layers that he’s currently wearing himself. The second thing is the _color._ Atsumu wants to spontaneously combust on the spot upon a single viewing. The thing is highlighter yellow, probably blinding everyone in a five foot radius. _Must be why no one wants to come near this booth_ , Atsumu thinks, chuckling. 

Upon closer inspection, mystery-highlighter-man wears a surgical mask on the lower section of his face. He sits so upright Atsumu has to wonder if he’s even breathing. Dark curls frame his face, sweeped mostly to his left. Atsumu’s gaze falls upon the two moles pressed neatly above his right eyebrow.

Someone bumps into him from behind, a rushed “ _sorry!”_ thrown in his direction, and Atsumu stumbles a foot closer to the table. This causes highlighter boy— _A+ nickname, Atsumu—_ to look up. Dark brown eyes, almost black, lock with golden ones, and Atsumu stares, dumbfounded. He averts his gaze, landing on a large panel with a number 5 printed onto it. _Sakusa_ , Osamu’s voice rings out throughout his head. Overcome with the sudden urge to occupy his hands, Atsumu brings the water bottle to his mouth.

The words that Miya Atsumu hears when he meets Sakusa Kiyoomi for the first time are, “Oh, great. There’s another one.”

This, in turn, catches Atsumu off guard and leads to a violent coughing fit in the middle of him taking a sip from his water bottle. Sakusa makes a face and carefully adjusts his mask, then says, “Plastic bottles are bad for the environment.”

Atsumu, now red faced— whether from the physical exertion of choking or mortification, who knows— decides right then and there that he doesn’t like this guy.

It takes him a few seconds to compose himself, and then finally he takes a deep breath and puts on the widest smile he can manage. Of course, since he’s Atsumu, naturally it turns out to be just a wide smirk. “Well aren’t you the charmer,” he squints at the masked boy’s name tag: _Kiyoomi_ , it reads, “—Omi-kun?” he lilts. 

Surprisingly enough, Sakusa’s face becomes even more unimpressed. “Yes, I am,” he deadpans, then, “and don’t call me that.” 

Atsumu cups his ear and leans closer, smirk growing more smug, “Sorry, did you say something Omi-Omi?”

Sakusa’s brow twitches, and he quickly pushes his chair back and stands up. Suddenly, Atsumu’s all too aware of Sakusa looming over him, feeling way too small despite being less than an inch shorter. Weird. He braces himself for an impact somewhere on his face, almost letting his eyes slip shut, when a throat clears behind him.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, but there’s a few more people I want you to meet. This _is_ for a cause, you know, so if you’re not gonna use any information from this booth then I’ll show you to the next one.” Suna stands next to him, posture ever so horrible and lazy eyes gazing through the flyers set up on the makeshift table.

“Suna.” Sakusa greets him. Suna nods in return, “Hey.”

Atsumu, suddenly regaining awareness of his surroundings, straightens up and blinks. “Wait— you’re not gonna hit me?”

“ _What?”_

“I thought– but– ya got up so I figured you were gonna punch me or somethin’.”

“Why would I do that?” He asks, mild horror apparent in his voice. Atsumu would almost say Sakusa looks downright disgusted. He probably is, judging as how he seems to be keeping his hands as far away from any physical contact as possible. 

“Dunno,” Atsumu shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”

Sakusa seems to release some of the tension in his shoulders. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” Atsumu scoffs but before he can retort, Sakusa says “I was just going to grab a poster from there,” he points to the table adjoined to the one he was sitting at, “and explain to you what our club does. And how you can help the environment. Like Suna said, this _is_ for a cause.”

Atsumu blinks. “Oh. Right. Environmental stuff.”

Suna turns to him and tells him, “Osamu’s off talking to Sugawara if you want to find him. He’s at the twelfth booth.”

“Suga- _who_?” Atsumu takes a step back and shakes his head, “Nevermind. I’m gonna tell ‘Samu I’m leaving. This place ain’t got any inspiration.”

Suna sighs. “You barely got here. You might find someone, you know.”

Atsumu stares at Suna for a long moment. “You sounded like ‘Samu just now. That was horrifying. Never do that again, please.” 

Suna rolls his eyes. “Well, whatever. S’not like I can stop you. I guess you two have already been acquainted then.” He gestures vaguely between Sakusa and Atsumu.

“Ah, yes, Omi-Omi and I have become _best_ friends,” he drawls. 

“Sakusa. And I don’t even know your name.”

It takes Atsumu a second to process what was just said, and like a lightbulb going off, he immediately straightens and sticks his hand out. “Miya Atsumu,” he declares. “The better twin.” 

His hand lays awkwardly outstretched, Sakusa making no move to reach for it until Atsumu slowly withdraws. _Shut up,_ he thinks, when he hears Suna’s soft snickering.

“I can already tell that’s a lie.” _Damn you, Sakusa, how can you not be swayed by my irresistible charms?_ Atsumu mentally swears, and a small voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Kita from his old high school says _the world doesn’t revolve around you, Atsumu._ Atsumu jerks his head, as if it would get rid of that voice. All this does is earn some mildly concerned looks from the two boys near him.

“So, Miya, what’s this _inspiration_ that you’re seeking?” Sakusa’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Is that an invitation, Omi-kun?” he waggles his eyebrows.

Sakusa’s eyebrow twitches again. “Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

“ _Wait–_ ugh, no– it’s for a project.” Sakusa raises an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue. “I’m a painting major; our final project is to make a portrait of someone. I don’t really have anyone to paint though, and self portraits ain’t allowed either.”

“Oh,” he says, seeming suddenly disinterested. Not like he showed any concern in the first place. Still, Atsumu’s ego takes a small hit. 

“Whaddya mean ‘ _oh_ ’? I wasn’t gonna ask ya ta model fer me, if that’s what ya wanted. S’gotta be someone _important_ , and no offense but I can’t see someone as prickly as a sea urchin becomin’ so important in my life,” he snarls, probably harsher than he intended.

Sakusa doesn’t seem to mind, or care, whichever one. “Right. Good luck with that.” Then he shifts his gaze and begins thumbing through flyers, spreading them out carefully, as if they’ll tear in half if he so much as puts an extra ounce of pressure on them. 

Atsumu stares at his hands, watching slender and pale fingers contrast with the off white of the table and the royal blue of the flyers. He wonders if his hands would be longer if he put theirs up against each other. His own would be wider, for sure. More tan and uneven, probably. Sakusa’s were bony, more delicate. His nails are smooth and filed perfectly, unlike Atsumu’s bitten down ones. Suddenly he wishes he had a pencil in his hand, wanting to trace the shape over and over. He vaguely registers that he’s staring way too long to be considered socially acceptable until something bumps his shoulder and he snaps his head up to see Suna staring at him.

He clears his throat. “Right, well, see ya later Omi-kun! Bye Suna!” And then he turns on his heel and promptly speed walks in the other direction. He’s eager to forget that whole interaction happened entirely. Of course, God is never on his side, so he just so happens to bump straight into his asshole of a twin.

“Woah, what’s got ya runnin’ away so fast? Don’t tell me yer leavin’ me already.” Osamu stands with a shorter boy at his side, with similar platinum hair and doe eyes. There’s a beauty mark right underneath his left eye. Atsumu might even say he’s cute, if he wasn’t so preoccupied with trying to lock himself in his studio as soon as possible. 

“Yeah, well, yer sea urchin friends are ruinin’ any chances of inspiration I might’ve had, so,” Atsumu huffs.

“Idiot, just cause ya got a crush on Sakusa doesn’t mean ya gotta leave already. Like I said, if ya stick around, ya might actually become a good person.” 

Atsumu splutters, going red in the face, before he notices Osamu’s smirk and realizes _of course_ he’s being messed with. “Shut yer trap,” he says. _Who cares about that environmental shit anyways?_ He’s about to say, when he remembers the shorter boy next to Osamu, looking at him expectantly. Probably not a good idea to piss off one of the club members, or this time they’ll _really_ screw him up.

The boy must’ve noticed Atsumu’s gaze, because he sticks his hand out and a soft smile tugs at his lips. “Sugawara Koushi. Call me Suga.”

Atsumu shakes his hand, briefly wondering how long it would take to get Sakusa to do something as simple as this, before remembering his goal of trying to _forget_ Sakusa and also that he should not be rude to Osamu’s friends. “Nice t’meet ya. It’s Atsumu.”

“So I’ve heard,” he smirks. Osamu bumps Suga’s shoulder just as Atsumu says, “Great things, I bet.”

Suga clears his throat. “Right, amazing things. I’ve, uh, gotta get back to my booth– it was nice to meet you Atsumu!” He waves and then starts in the other direction.

Staring at Suga’s retreating figure, Atsumu blindly reaches out and smacks his brother upside the head.

“Talkin’ shit about me to yer friends now, huh?”

“Don’t act like ya don’t either. This ain’t anythin’ new, I still remember all the shit ya said about me to Aran and Suna back in high school.”

Atsumu giggles before he can stop the sound from escaping him. “Oh god, I can’t believe Suna still ended up with ya after half the shit I’ve told him. True love, huh?” Osamu glares at him so sternly he swears he can feel lasers dig into his skull.

Atsumu sighs. “Alright, whatever, I’ll stay for a little longer. Yer still takin’ me to dinner though.” Osamu rolls his eyes and says nothing, instead turning around towards the row of booths still unvisited and beckoning his twin to follow.

The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur. The sun beating down on his back does little to ease the constant numbness of his fingertips as Atsumu curses the late fall weather. He meets a few more people; Bokuto, an overly excited boy with hair wildly sticking in all directions. He chatters to him about eco-friendly solutions and future plans about government involvement in environmental issues for a few minutes (to Atsumu, it felt more like forty), before his boyfriend Akaashi joins them and slowly eases Bokuto away from the conversation. He learns that Akaashi is majoring in journalism, Bokuto in political science, and they’ve been together since highschool. _What’s with all these couples around me lately_? Atsumu thinks. The rational part of his mind reminds him that the only couples he actually interacts with outside of Bokuto and Akaashi are limited to Suna and Osamu, but he ignores that in favor of complaining to Osamu about it for the rest of the fair.

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he’s utterly exhausted– something Kita would probably scold him for, followed by telling him to get more sleep– and he collapses on his couch after stumbling out of his shoes and haphazardly draping his jacket over the rack. The apartment still feels oddly quiet to him, and he itches for something to fill the silence with. He used to be roommates with a college freshman, Hinata Shouyou, but after putting them in an apartment together for less than a week, the landlord had to force one of them to move out. Osamu says he saw it coming, and Atsumu makes a mental note to meet his roommate in person next time before moving in together. He gets up, socked feet padding down the corridor until he steps into his studio. This room used to be Hinata’s, before he moved into a dorm with his— friend?— Kageyama. He still keeps in touch with Hinata online at least, but for now Atsumu’s learned to appreciate the quiet when he works on his art. 

He grabs a small sketchbook forgotten in the corner, and sits in an armchair by the window, tucking his knees up to his chest. He sighs, allowing himself to get lost in his mindless sketching, periodically glancing up to watch the sun slowly retreat below the skyline. He sketches the outline of a face, a strong jawline making itself known on the page. He draws out a neck, connected to broad shoulders, and round ears, cross-hatching and smudging when needed. He stares at it for a few minutes, as if the rest of the face will miraculously appear on its own. _Someone important_ , he thinks. _Huh._

After a little while, he turns the page, opting to forget about his project and just sketch for his own good. He sketches the silhouette of buildings outside his window, overshadowed by the hazy orange sun sinking behind them. He draws a cat which reminds him a bit of his friend Kuroo from Nekoma. Lastly, he finds himself drawing hands. Hands with palms facing up, hands holding various objects, hands closed into a fist, and then, hands gingerly holding a flyer. He sketches over each protruding knuckle, careful not to press into the paper too hard. He carefully shades the skin around the nails, traces the indentations on each finger, and before he knows it, the sky outside is midnight blue and he’s faced with a drawing of an oddly familiar hand with an all too familiar royal blue flyer. He snaps the sketchbook closed and lets his pencil clatter to the floor. 

He sighs, exasperated. “I’m goin’ to bed,” he says to no one.

  
  


**━━━━━━━━━**

  
  


The next morning, a Saturday, Atsumu wakes up leisurely sometime around noon. Mentally cheering after realizing he has no classes that day, he shuts his eyes and rolls around in his bed once, twice, thrice more, until he sighs and picks himself up. 

In the midst of his morning routine— which is simply just brushing his teeth and, sometimes, breakfast— he vaguely remembers plans to meet up with someone from the fair yesterday; Ayano, a girl from his economics class he’s interacted with once or twice before. 

His phone rings just as the toaster chimes and pops out two slices of evenly browned bread. He picks up, frowning.

“Jeez, ‘Samu, ya couldn't call me later? S’too early.”

“It’s almost one pm, you fuckin’ moron. Forgot ya get up so late on weekends.”

Atsumu sticks his tongue out at him, even though he knows he can’t see it through the phone. Somehow, he has a feeling Osamu knows anyway.

“So, how was it? Get any inspiration overnight?”

Atsumu’s mind briefly flashes an image of hands, _hands, delicate, slender hands_ — _calm down, Atsumu_ — and he coughs. “Nope,” he lies, “not at all.”

On the other end of the line, Osamu grunts in acknowledgment. “Shame. I’ll be workin’ at the shop today startin’ at three, if ya wanna drop by. Maybe you’ll find someone worth drawin’ in here.” 

“Doubt it. See ya later,” he replies, and hangs up.   
  


After throwing on a pair of ripped dark jeans and an old gray Inarizaki hoodie, he slips on a pair of vans, grabs his keys and heads outside. He’s got some time before his plans, ( _was it supposed to be a date?_ Atsumu can’t remember.) so he figures he’ll take a walk around the campus before heading over to the coffee shop to annoy his brother.

After he walks for a few blocks, he inhales, feeling crisp autumn air fill his lungs. He wiggles his fingers in the pocket of his hoodie, trying to refrain from numbing them again, when he hears something. _Thud._ Atsumu perks up, and picks up the pace.

Another _thud_ , followed by a squeak. Somehow, those two sounds make him feel sixteen all over again. He walks another few feet and finds himself in front of a gym door, swung wide open.

It reveals a large gymnasium inside, shiny floors and grey mats lining the perimeter. Of course, what immediately catches his attention though is the bright flash of yellow surging through the air. _Ah,_ he thinks, _return of the highlighter._

In an instant, time slows. Sakusa Kiyoomi stands— no, _flies_ , before him. Legs bent, arms outstretched, and a wild mess of curls spread in a halo around his head. Atsumu is standing on the court, ball at the tips of his fingers. He breathes in, feeling sweat and victory penetrating his lungs, and he exhales, feeling dizzy all at once. Someone shouts something inaudible at him from across the court, and seconds later, he’s sandwiched by a bunch of heavy bodies, all equally buzzing with excitement. _This_ , Atsumu thinks, _is where I want to be for the rest of my life._

 _Slam_. Atsumu is shaken out of his reverie by the sound of Sakusa’s palm making contact with the ball, landing right in the center on the other side of the net. He reminds himself that he’s here, in his college gym, and not surrounded by his old team. Instead, he forces himself to pay attention to the way Sakusa’s wrists fold in on themselves, spike after spike, and the way the ball spins perfectly every time, landing with a resounding sound in the center of the court. 

It’s only a few minutes later when Sakusa shakes his head, droplets of sweat flying around him, and appears in front of Atsumu. “Are you just going to stand there watching me all day?”

Atsumu wants to run. He wants to turn around and run until his lungs burn forever and everything he knows is out of sight. He _can’t_ , he realizes, he can’t be on that court anymore no matter how long he yearns for it. He made a decision. He has to stick to it. It feels like everything around him has conglomerated together and split into two paths. Atsumu wants to drag Kiyoomi onto the court and set for him until his fingers bleed. He also wants to turn around and never set foot into this gym again. Atsumu wants to run.

Instead, he says this: “Omi-kun, can I paint ya?”

**Author's Note:**

> dude trying to format things on ao3 are way harder than i thought so apologies if there are a couple things that are off, ive had to go back and edit a bunch of times. anyways thank you for reading !!! it really really means alot to me, even if its something really small so every hit and kudos and comment counts :D


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